


God War

by Taveren_Gaidon



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Callouts to other stories cause I'm a hoe, Original Character(s), War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-03-13 10:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18939196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taveren_Gaidon/pseuds/Taveren_Gaidon
Summary: This is a story of a war fought between deities fought by angels and demons and elves and orcs. It is a war fought by the forces of Good versus the forces of Evil. A war that will shape the entire Cosmos for the rest of time.This is a story that I've personally been wanting to write for a long time, and now I've finally put it together. I hope you all enjoy!





	1. Prelude

The sounds of the dying filled the air. Cries were made to deities, to mothers and fathers, to friends long lost. They echoed through the air, thick with the scent of blood and death and the stiffness of heat and humidity; into the sky above, where the sun hovered over and beat the earth with unending, scorching, rays. They came from the bodies that covered a once beautiful field.

When the day began it had been a pasture dedicated to the local crop arith, lovingly tended to by the farmer who, even though the years had been long and hard, still woke up every day to watch the blessed sun rise. Now the long-grain rice was gone, in its wake was scorched earth and broken soldiers. One could not walk five feet without stepping over a corpse of a soldier who had survived the initial attack, only to waste away in the baking heat.

A man crouched over one such soldier, a youth who murmured a prayer again and again to  _ Iris Eldrathi _ , the deity of love. The youth prayed for his sweetheart to remember him but to find love again, for his parents to find rest, and for his siblings to grieve and move on. This man held the hand of the youth as he passed. Dressed in robes of white and gold, with the gentle hands of a scholar and swept-back black hair, he looked far from the soldiers who had fought here. Yet, he was comfortable to wait among the dying. When the soldier passed, he closed his eyes and murmured a blessing to the afterlife, before standing.

The man walked through the field of death, the cries of the wounded slowly dying away to desolate silence. This had been where the first clash had been, between the defenders of Elran and the horde of Nereth who threatened their homes. The defenders, while valiant, had been overwhelmed and slowly pushed back across the plains, closer and closer to the city they so dearly wished to defend. There was little time now. He crossed the field and began the slow incline up towards the solitary hill in this area, which commanded a tactical, and beautiful, view of the region.

An hour passed and he finally crested the hill. The hilltop was barren, the grass crushed underfoot by the host that had come to destroy Elran. Strewn about were the signs of the passing force: scattered bits of human armor, discarded trophies of war, and sun-dried bones. The man whispered a prayer to the unfortunate souls that the Neren had captured, before turning to the north. In the distance there was the scene he had been avoiding, the scene he had to force himself to watch. 

Destruction raged at Elran. The tall walls, once boasted as impregnable, were shattered like rocks from a mine. The defenders would not last the day, and once routed, it would not take long for the Neren to catch up and get slaughtered like the courageous defenders who had sallied forth. Once the remaining defenders of Elran were killed, the city would be sacked. Even now, he could see the relentless destruction: the intricately carved gems and jewelry taken from the vaults and thrown into the streets, soaring towers of marble and quartz pulled down into rubble, people slain where they stood staring in horror. Anything that could be burned was put to the torch and anything alive was killed for the sake of the slaughter. There would be no surviving Elran, once the fire died down the city would become just another ruin; like all the other cities the Neren had come to.

Rage burned inside him, but he forced it to cool. He could not intervene now, not when the dice had been cast. He knew that this day would eventually come. Once his champion failed in her task he knew that the forces of destruction would ravage this world, but that did not mean it was the end. There was always another battle to be fought, and another to be won. Today, however, he had been shattered. He stood there staring at the end of the world, watching as he lost everything he held dear

The moonlight was obscured by thick rolling clouds, but the fires to the north kept the night bright. It was summer so the night air was warm, yet there was an unnatural chill that came from behind. A frigidness that cut through the lasting heat of the sun.

“It will be snuffed, this world. Like a candlelight; bravely standing in the airs of winter, before the snow and cold extinguish it,” came a voice that echoed from behind. “Again, you have failed.”

The man did not respond, instead, he watched as the last of the raging fire burned in the ruins of Elran. The Neren had ceased their destruction a few hours ago and continued further north, onto the next city, to the next kingdom.

How many were there left, he asked himself? Two, three? A few bastions still held against the oncoming tide. But it would not be long until they too were broken.

What would come next, he wondered. Would the Neren find another enemy to destroy, or in their revelry would they consume themselves?

“Your champion was not enough. Did you hear her cries, when Ergath tore her apart? Did you hear her whimper for her gods, for her family? Did you even watch?” 

There was a rush of air as his enemy stood before him. It never took a physical form, out of disinterest or of inability, he did not know. Always, however, it was in the shape of a humanoid. A humanoid formed of the darkest black, an abyss that walked among the mortals on the material plane. It sucked in the light, and whatever it touched grew cold and decayed. 

“I am always watching those who serve me,” he whispered, shifting to watch the once proud city. “I heard her every word, and knew that there was nothing I could do. Just as you can only watch your pawns now. This age has been decided.”

The void laughed, a roaring sound that echoed into the sky. It came from the bottom of the throat and was tinged with vestiges of madness. 

“You say that with finality. With the certainty that there will be another age.”

“You have not yet seized the power of the Cosmos. Can’t you feel it? Another world being spun out with the powers of creation?”

The laughter quickly turned into an animalistic snarl. 

“Oh I can feel it,” the void turned to face him. “I can feel the rotting carcass of the Cosmos create yet another broken world. How long will this cycle go on? Why not realize the truth. That this war is pointless.” 

It turned and met the man’s gaze. There were two specks of white, similar to the light of isolated stars in the sky, and behind them was only madness and a single desire.

“I will not give way to let you simply destroy everything.” He answered calmly.

“Then fight. Fight until your last futile breath. Fight, knowing that there will come a day when I stand triumphant. Where Time is broken under my heel, and Creation lies in my grasp. Know that all of your efforts will be for nothing, and the Cosmos will perish with a whisper, as I remake  _ everything _ .”

The man remained silent as the void turned and stalked back down the hill. The man remained staring helplessly as he watched the ruins of Elran smolder and be swallowed by darkness, before he too disappeared.


	2. War

The mists of dawn were broken by the rays of the golden sun. In the fields of Arvada, a borderland between Elysium and Hades, there would normally be the sound of farming Ascendants and their flocks. But all that stirred this morning were soldiers and their captains. A celestial host and a demon-led horde readied themselves for the coming battle; infantry sharpened their weapons and readied their armor, cavalry soothed their mounts, and the veterans looked out onto the field of battle with a weary gaze. Today the war would be finished. After six months of combat it led to this, the final battle of the campaign. Six months of skirmishes along the border with intermittent, intense, battle. It left the once gold and green fields of the borderlands devastated and broken. Now the horde made up of orcs, demons, and other fiends, which had been rampaging across the borderlands, had faltered and the celestial host had caught up. Now was their time to strike. Both sides knew that for this brief war, this simple conflict, this would be the deciding battle. The stakes were simple, but high: the victor would remain strong for the next border war to erupt, and the defeated would be scattered to the winds.

Deiris tightened his right bracer and finally felt ready for battle. He was a lowly archon, merely a footsoldier for the angelic hosts. Armed with a spear and shield, he served as a part of the greater line that had to withstand any assault. He was a drop in an ocean, part of a uniform sea dedicated to serve and protect. So many other celestials were outfitted just like him–with spear, sword, or axe, and shield–yet, he knew he had to do his part.

Rumor had spread throughout the army that this battle was going to be the decisive one. There was to be no more skirmishing and no more attempts made to try and catch a rampaging horde that acted more like a maddened beast than an army. He turned his head towards the east, towards the battlefield. They were lucky they managed to decide upon a flatland for their engagement; even if that flatland had once been a farmer’s most prized field.

 Yesterday their skirmishers had engaged with the scouts of the demonic horde, and the field had been razed during their retreat. He turned his eyes from the field and further east, where he could see the first lines of their enemy assembling. Monsters that stood as tall as trees stood next to still dark knights. Orcs shouted and stamped the ground while fiends sharpened their weapons. Behind them demonic commanders argued over what to do as devil knights stood apart from the other leaders, watching the field with fiery glares. While his opponent’s army was definitely more varied than his own, they had one thing in common.

They all carried the stench of Evil.

It was a putrid smell. A combination of rotting corpses and freshly-spilled blood exposed to the air. But it was more than just the smell, it was a feeling. A chill that froze the bones, an unnerving sense of incoming danger and disaster. Every one of his enemies carried this unsaid sense of death that lingered in the air. Each and every angel could sense the aura of Evil that those soldiers carried, but all it did was strengthen their resolve to fight.

“Deiris.” The archon turned to see his squad leader waving him over.

She was a taller angel, with scarlet red hair and fair skin, clad in silver plate mail and holding a greatsword over her right shoulder. She was Nixis, an angel that stood just below the commander of the host, and was one of the most powerful angels Deiris knew. “Time to go.”

 Deiris stood and grabbed his spear and shield from the ground, before running over to her. 

Nixis led him to their spot in the ranks. As one of the strongest squads, their duty was to hold the core of their line, no matter what. Even if their flanks were under heavy assault, everything would crumble if the center fell. So obviously the duty of carrying that crucial piece came to the First Squad of this host. Already other members of his squad were assembled in a line. One soldier stood a half foot in front of the other, the next a half foot behind, and with that formation they could easily make a flexible shieldwall. Most of them carried the same spear and shield combo that Deiris used, but others wielded longswords, axes, or other weapons. Those without the spear and shield would fill the gaps where necessary, and support the spearmen by assaulting the enemy through the flexible line. It had proved to be an effective strategy; one that had not yet failed them.

Deiris took his place in the line and glanced back at Nixis, who was speaking to a messenger. One that had likely brought word from their captain. Their host was small when compared to the great armies that marshalled at Hestavar. With only seven hundred and fifty soldiers, three captains and one commander present were easily able to command their host, and distributed their orders through the use of messenger and sometimes even telepathic thought. Nixis nodded and the messenger sped off, then she walked over towards her second-in-command; an angel named Jur. Deiris saw them talk for a moment, before turning his gaze away so he could watch the rest of their host assemble.

On their flanks two companies of cavalry waited. These weren’t the heavy knights of Hestavar, instead they relied on rapid strikes with spear and sword in order to slowly wear down the enemy. Behind them were companies of infantry soldiers, like himself, and behind his own company were the archer companies, formed out of Eladrin and Elven sharpshooters who could decimate entire enemy battalions before they reached their lines. 

Deiris turned back towards the enemy and planted his spear into the ground while he stretched. Around him he could hear the host begin the final phase of its assembly. However, he did not focus on that, instead directing his attention and nervous energy towards preparing for the battle ahead. Slowly he emptied his mind of all distractions–the feeling of the sunshine against his skin, the sound of horses trotting along grass, the click and rustle of armor and weapons–and focused on the task ahead, to hold the line at all costs. 

Five minutes passed and he could feel the switch in atmosphere. By now everyone was in formation, but something else had changed. Across the field they could see the assembling army standing as still as it could. They gathered in a jagged line, almost like teeth, all armored in shades of black and red and grey. They were indistinct, more like a fluid mass of bodies than the rigid formations of his own lines. Deiris could taste the tension in the air, his mouth dry and in desperate need of water or something to bite onto in anticipation. He glanced to his right and left and could see that the others of his squad readied their weapons, and he followed suit. It began when the first pure note of their horns pierced the air.

They marched forward to meet the raging tide of their enemies. There was little form to the enemy charge; only a wave of bodies made up of flesh and metal, meant to overwhelm their lines and carve them to shreds. Already their strategy was clear; win or not, their victory would come with the amount of blood they could spill. The distance between the two sides closed; the destructive tide surged against the bulwark, and Deiris readied himself for the impact. Arrows whistled above them, casting narrow shadows before slamming into the enemy. That, however, did not stop the charge.

His spear met the jagged edge of an orc blade when the wave made contact. Deiris lifted his shield up to his side as he pulled the shaft of the spear back, his eyes staring forward at the teeming mass of evil surging towards them. To his sides he could sense his squadmates fighting off the horde, and in between their struggles were the executioners who would shift between the lines, already going to work. He twisted his spear and thrust up towards the head of his enemy, then with a flick of his wrist brought the blade down across the torso The orc that was attacking him fell and he steadied his stance; already more were coming for him. 

Their squad held the line for an hour, a wall of stone that pushed back every assault. Demons, devils, and other fell monsters assaulted their position with wicked blades and were forced into an intense melee. Meanwhile, the air was filled with the roar of magic. Uncountered fireballs and lightning bolts were splitting through the air and crashing against both armies. Clerics blessed entire squads with enhanced strength and speed and necromancers raised the recently slain to fight again. 

While Deiris and other spearmen held their line, it was the other soldiers in their squad that shined. Led by Nixis, they danced through their line and against their enemy. Their weapons became drenched with blood, and around them were the fallen corpses of their enemy. It was a beautiful display; their skill in battle was unparalleled among the host, and their movements appeared almost like a fluid dance. Those soldiers were the real powerhouse of their squad. They were what made their center so immovable and deadly.

Another thirty minutes passed and the battle was turning in their favor. On the flanks their cavalry were moping away a few regiments of undead soldiers that tried to break through. Their center still held, and it was there that the bloodshed was worst. Corpses from both sides made a blanket upon the field, and the ground had become tainted with the mixed blood. 

Deiris wiped the sweat from his forehead as another squad advanced to put pressure on the nearby remaining enemies. In the distance their commander waited. It was a large figure, clothed in black and red with a tall wooden staff. He was surrounded by four dark knights, and Deiris knew it would be a death sentence to even approach them. He had been weaving powerful bolts of dark energy and sending them against their rear lines all battle. Now, however, he stood still, a silhouette on the battleground surrounded by his own elite guard.

Nixis wiped her blade with a cloth, eyes focused on the figure in the distance. Her squad was formed into a half-circle around her, still holding the center in case of a surprise attack from enemy reinforcements. 

“What is that creature doing?” She murmured before lowering her greatsword and turning towards Jur. “Find a messenger, ask if we’re pulling from the field. I don’t enjoy waiting here.” 

Jur nodded and trotted off towards their rear line, where the messengers were likely waiting.

Deiris turned back towards the battlefield and noticed that the air was turning darker, thicker, as if a wall of fog entered the battlefield. Nixis must have felt it too, for she moved to stand behind the circle. 

“Ready yourselves, men. He still has one last trick.” She commanded, her sharp steel tone leaving no room for arguments or questions. 

Deiris shifted his feet once again to maintain a combat-ready stance, and noticed other squads begin to pull back as the air grew thick with the dark purple-colored fog. He pointed his spear towards the creeping mist as their line pulled back. Everyone seemed to know that whatever that fog carried, it could only mean something terrible.

His eyes flicked down towards the ground as he saw movement. A body was twitching, then another, and another. Soon the entire field of bodies, from their own celestials to fell fiends, rose from the ground. They were undead now; no matter how broken and battered and bloody the body was, they moved as if they were puppets. In the distance, through the ever-closing fog, Deiris could make out a tall shape standing beside the enemy commander. His focus was cut, however, by Nixis’ voice.

“First Squad, form shieldwall!” 

Her voice cut through his growing nerves and he took a half-step forward to lock his shield in position. He then laid his spear atop his shield, and his squad formed a small shield wall broken only by the protruding spears. To their flanks, the specialists of their squad were spread, ready for the next assault. 

The sky grew dark as arrows whistled through the air, and he could dimly hear the shouts of other squad leaders to form up in a defensive position. The battle changed; their victory now uncertain, the only objective was to survive the new onslaught.

The undead crashed against their line. Even though they were reanimated zombies, simple puppets and bodies that coursed with foul magic, they still had the capacity to wield their weapons with crude skill. Deiris held his shield defiantly before him as he fought off a crazed undead demon with his spear. All around him chaos reigned as the undead desperately tried to pull apart their line. Arrows billowed in the sky, the shouts and commands of his fellow soldiers shook the air, and he could feel the chaos of battle affecting him. He wanted to run, to retreat, to break the line and save his own life. How could they withstand a new, bolstered, army?

Then, he felt an assuring heat against his back and glanced behind him.

Nixis stood there; greatsword coated in fire. Her platemail radiating in shining golden light, with faint wings extending past her back. Her eyes became brilliant beacons of hope, filled with warmth and determined resolve. She raised her sword and began to charge forward, shouting as she broke through the enemy line and into the teeming mass of undead. 

“Do not waver! The flames of Hestavar will not diminish in the face of these foul creatures!” 

She crashed into the mass and began fighting, her blade a fiery storm of destruction and death. For a moment their line hesitated, then a rallying cry broke out from their forces and they surged forward.

Deiris shoved his shield forward and thrust with his spear towards the nearest enemy as he charged forward with the rest of their host. Around him other spearman began pushing back against the enemy. Swordsmen cut through them and axemen laid the enemy low. He glanced to the north and saw the cavalry rallying and readying for a charge into the exposed rear of the enemy. The undead, taken by surprise by the sudden charge, were cut down and pushed back across the field. They were rallied, they were ready, they were-

Broken.

A tall, lithe figure appeared to Deiris’ right. He, Deiris only assumed it was a male, was adorned with purple and black plate mail used only by the Death Knights of Urgrod. He was not, however, undead. While the undead carried an unnatural grey aura tainted by their foul unlife, this figure’s aura was similar to that of the deities Deiris served under. It was a thick, vibrant purple that was spider-webbed with pulsing black veins. He wielded a long glaive, it’s blade slightly curved and glowed with a fog-like purple aura. And a spiraling, pulsating, black line ran up the shaft. He crashed into the celestial line to Deiris right, and already he could hear the screams of terror and pain. With him he brought an overwhelming sense of Evil. More powerful than any of the other monsters he’s fought. He stood above their host, taller than any of their soldiers, and looked down upon them. His helm blocked any physical gaze but a chilling feeling shot up Deiris’ spine when he thought he looked at him. Their charge, which had been so effective and devastating to the enemy, was halted in its tracks. Nixis’ bright glow, a light that had ignited the charge, appeared dim next to the figure’s purple fog. 

The figure did not wait long before he began to carve into the host, slaying any who happened to get close or within reach of his fearsome glaive. Those that fell to it would only remain dead for a few seconds, before rising again to turn their weapons against their former allies. In what felt like a single moment, the charge had been blunted and those caught on the frontlines were surrounded. 

Deiris had dropped his shield and began to slice into the undead that were charging towards him, wielding his spear with two hands for more power. His squad was scattered, their line destroyed in the fierce melee. Nixis was before him, valiantly fighting and trying to rally her soldiers; but to no avail. Behind them the figure cloaked in fog continued to lay waste to the host. Those that were not fortunate enough to get away were slain and revived a moment later. It was complete chaos; everyone was fighting for their lives alone, and nobody was able to give clear orders, not even Nixis. The purple fog only grew stronger, and Deiris struggled to breath as it choked him. He cut down an undead orc and dropped his spear as his throat finally closed from the smothering fog; the sounds of the battle grew dim as he fell to the ground. He managed to turn onto his side to watch his squad try to rally around a still glowing Nixis, who was completely surrounded. Was it over? Was this life of battle, of war, finally over?  
Suddenly, a light pierced through the thick fog. A beam of golden light that destroyed the undead it touched. The fog was broken when a body crashed through it. Clad in gold and black platemail, this new figure wielded a longsword and kite shield, and glowed with an aura brighter than Nixis’. A halo shone above his head, and a billowing cloak of white followed his body. Deiris could recognize the figure through his dim view; the sigil on his shoulders, a blazing spear and shield topped with a crown, identified him as Ammur, Elder Deity of War and Law. He crashed against the other figure, who had turned to face him.

The two fought one another, glaive countered by sword, for a few moments before disengaging. The purple fog was continually pierced by the radiant light Ammur had brought, and the Elder Deity leveled his sword at his enemy. 

“Josu Vess, for interfering here on this field, I challenge you to a duel. This war we have fought these past months will be decided here, between us.”

Josu Vess stood still, watching Ammur, before raising his glaive in answer. The two assumed their stances; Josu Vess’ glaive was held above his head, and Ammur took cover behind his shield, sword pointing to his lower right. A beat of time passed, then the duel began as the two deities rushed towards each other, weapons raised for fatal battle.

The two deities fought with vigor. Each blow sounded in the air and the ground shook under their feet. Josu Vess wielded his glaive with deadly accuracy, a spinning weapon that came again and again in contact with Ammur’s shield. Time seemed to stand still as the two deities fought. The celestial host retreated, but the few squads that had been trapped in the undead mess were forced to watch the entrancing fight as the undead suddenly stopped moving and stood still. 

The decisive blow came from Ammur. He caught the glaive with his shield and swept it aside and brought his spear back in an instant. Then, the spear came forward in a brutal thrust, and protruded from Josu Vess’ back. The undead deity stiffened as he felt the mortal grasp of death touch him, and when Ammur pulled his spear out he crumpled to the ground. All around them, the undead that had been raised began to crumble to a black and purple dust. 

Deiris took in a deep breath and shot up as the fog dissipated into the golden light. He turned around and saw his squadmates, those that survived, do the same. Before long, it was only the celestial host that survived. They had won.

The battlefield told the chaotic story. Even though there weren’t any solid bodies, armor and weapons were scattered everywhere, the sole remnants of both armies. Deiris slowly stood and looked around at the rallying squads. There were almost always individuals missing after each battle, but this seemed to be the most devastating. Squads were depleted to half-strength, and some were even worse off. He turned towards Nixis who stared at Ammur for just a moment, before she sheathed her greatsword and began walking around the battlefield, collecting the members of her squad.

“You ok?” She asked in a weary voice when she reached Deiris. 

Deiris nodded and lent down to pick up his spear and shield. Around them gathered the few other, remaining, members of their squad. Before battle,they numbered twelve, now he only counted five from their original squad. A familiar pain pierced his heart; war was hell, and took just as much as it gave. For every mile they marched forward, they lost soldiers to the horrors of war in some way. 

Jur was the last to rally to Nixis, and gave a soft-spoken report. He had been stationed on their right flank of the squad, where Josu Vess had first attacked.

“All of our casualties came at the end, where Josu Vess attacked. Elladin, Veris, Eir, Aleric, Jeru, Katar, and Mavis died in the attack.” He spoke in a solemn voice. 

“I see,” Nixis considered for a moment before continuing. “Gather what supplies we can scavenge from the field, then report back at the camp. I have a feeling we’re going to be leaving as soon as we can.” Nixis ordered in a short voice, then turned to regard Ammur. 

He was still standing over the corpse of his foe, a silent titan on an otherwise busy field. He must have felt Nixis’ gaze, for he turned towards her then began to walk over, taking long, purposeful strides.

The surrounding host stood still as Ammur approached First Squad. Now that he was closer, Deiris could see just how tall the Elder Deity was. A hulking mass of plate mail. He couldn’t have been less than nine feet tall, and he had a build that rivaled the great bears that stalked the Beastlands. Deiris couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his presence. His aura proclaimed him to be an Elder Deity: he was _Order_ , he was _Law_ , he was an embodiment of the ultimate warrior. And yet, he was still Good. He carried the same type of aura that all celestials had.  It was the sense of protection and self-sacrifice, that the individual would protect another no matter the costs. It was a feeling of warmth and safety. Whoever carried that aura would do the right thing, always. However, when perceived, his aura was rigid, as opposed to fluid, and tinted with gold and white. 

“You are the one that channeled the spirit of Ral, aren’t you?” His voice was deep, and carried with it a great authority. 

Deiris stood entranced as he watched Nixis meet the deity’s unseen gaze. How could she stand up to that presence? Deiris felt himself shaking; he was standing not five feet from such a powerful individual, surely he did not amount to much to Ammur.

“I am.” Nixis replied with a cool voice. “The time demanded it, just like it demanded you come face a worthy adversary.”

Ammur nodded his head slightly. 

“I did not expect Josu Vess to come here today, but the result is ultimately good for our cause.” He raised his voice so that it could echo across the field and turned to face the gathered host, who now stood at attention. “Today you paid a heavy cost for a great victory. Six months of skirmishing and battle was paid for today, and while the cost was great,” he gestured to the body of Josu Vess, “the reward is greater. One of the deities of Evil, an undead creature that turned innocents into undead slaves, is dead today. So too is one of their hordes. Our enemy will surely feel this pain today, for their mighty warriors now lay dead and spread to the wind.”

 Deiris could feel the excitement course through the crowd, like a bolt of electricity that jumped from person to person. 

“So I thank you, noble warriors, for your sacrifice. Know that you have brought another defeat to the enemy, and a victory for Good!” 

Ammur raised his sword into the air and was greeted with a thunderous shout from the remnants of the host. 

While indistinct conversations began to exchange through the gathered crowd, Ammur turned back towards Nixis and spoke in a softer voice, barely heard over the shouts of victory and joy from the host. 

“The victory today would not have happened without you, Nixis. When you return to Hestavar, seek me out; there will be more for us to discuss.” 

With those final words, Nixis was left speechless. And Amur leapt into the air and took off in a soaring flight. Deiris watched him leave the battlefield and turned to his comrades, a weary smile on his face. The others, even Jur, mirrored him.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Jur briefly clapped his hands together and began to instruct what remained of their squad to begin the scavenging operation. Deiris half-turned to search a nearby area but was drawn back towards Nixis. She stood still, head tilted back towards where Ammur had flown to. Her face was gentle, and Deiris could see the faint outline of a tear in the corner of her eye.

He turned around and began gathering a few of the salvageable fallen spears. He would not pry into why she cried, but he already knew the reason. They had won, and their victory had meant something.

* * *

 

To the west of Hestavar, the Bright City, was a large castle known as the Citadel of Light. A large road wound its way through the beachy plains towards the castle at the end of a narrow peninsula. It’s walls were easily fifty feet tall, and four towers rose from the corners of the castle to watch the land. In the center, a square keep loomed over the walls themselves, and located inside was a large central hall. Outside in the courtyard powerful celestial soldiers trained or patrolled. This citadel was, besides Hestavar, the most heavily garrisoned fortress in the Land of Light, and where the power of the deities of Good was most concentrated. It was from here that the Elder Deities of Good ruled. These Lords of Light, as they were called by the celestials, ruled from this citadel. From here they coordinated the armies of Good in the war against Evil.

Ammur landed on his personal balcony. Before him the curtains that hide the inside of his room were drawn shut, and the door locked. He grumbled and summoned his key to open the door, then shuffled through the curtains and into his spacious room. To his right would be his bedroom and changing area, to the left a sitting area to relax after a long day. Opposite him was a door that would lead to his office; a smaller room with a desk that had plenty of reports, maps, and papers to look over. Past his office, and down the hall, would be the war room. A large circular room with an exceedingly detailed map that dominated the room. Chairs and tables would surround that map, with papers and quills with unending ink there to make plans and notes for future campaigns.

He turned towards the sitting area and lent his spear against the long leather couch, then his shield next to it. Slowly he took off his armor, each piece of metal dropping to the floor with a solid thud. Eventually, he stood in the sitting room in nothing but a long golden cloth tunic and tight white leggings. He was a dark-skinned man, with dark brown eyes that smoldered with barely restrained power. There was a natural aura of leadership to him, and in the fluid grace of which he moved, one could easily tell that he was accustomed to react to danger at any time. He entered his bedroom to change into a loose white shirt and a pair of dark breeches, then quietly left his room to head towards the war room.

Eleven others sat around the large map that dominated the war room. Their attire ranged from the casual clothing similar to Ammur’s, to more ornate coats and pants inlaid with gold and scarlet, to well-worn armor that have seen countless battles. Both men and women glanced towards Ammur as he entered, they seemed to have been waiting for him. Now that he was here, they could begin.

“Another couple raiding parties were turned away in the south. They numbered no more than a few hundred in total, and the garrisons there were more than enough to repel the force.” A man, clad in scarlet, said. 

He looked up from the report and glanced around the room, the untapped energy of fire burning in his eyes. 

“The borderlands there remain strong, and ripe for consolidation.” He was called Embarr, a deity of fire but bound to the light.

“We should be careful not to overstep our boundaries, lest we extend ourselves too far and become caught in a trap.” A woman with silver hair and leather armor said, coolly eyeing the map. “Besides, will the Ascendants there accept our cause?”

“They will, it is only when you begin moving east will the Ascendants turn away from us. The corrupting nature of Evil resides in the eastern borderlands, you should know that best of all, Elaris.” Another man, this one dressed in chainmail, spoke to Elaris. “If the south is secured, then perhaps we should turn our attention to the north? Many armies from Hades have marched there and have begun to claim the territory in the name of Evil. They must be repelled, and quickly.” His voice was underlaid with power and authority for he was one of the more powerful Elder Deities. His name was Samiel, a deity of war and leadership.

Others spoke up, debating their own positions and providing their own reports about the current situation. All of them were Elder Deities, formed in the earliest of days and bound to the Powers. They were all sworn to Good, and granted power over various domains. In the past, they were many. Now, they were the remaining few of their calibers, for all other deities that have come after them have had less power imbued within them.

“How did the skirmishing host fare, Ammur?” Asked Erethal, twin to Elindial and elder deity of battle and strength, once the room grew quiet. 

Ammur had settled into his seat and glanced up from the report he head been reading. A beat passed as the others leaned in for his answer. They already knew what they wanted to know, after all who could have missed the tremor that would have happened when Josu Vess fell?

“The host sustained heavy casualties, but it is a decisive victory for our cause. The enemy army has been completely destroyed, along with their patron, Josu Vess.” 

A relieved sigh rang around the table as he confirmed what they had felt. Josu Vess, Lord of the Dead, was certainly one of their most powerful adversaries. Now that he lay defeated, and truly dead, they could begin working once more on invasion plans. 

The lords of war–Samiel, Erethal, Embarr, and Helios–stood together and looked over the large map on the table. They were responsible for coordinating the grand hosts of Elysium and leading them in battle. 

Elindial, Gil and Jace stood together, speaking in low voices about the state of Elysium. They were the governors, assigned to look after the infrastructure of Elysium. Jace, who held mastery over magic, was often the most concerned about Hestavar and the other cities. Elindial was at heart a healer who, when he was not in the halls of the Sunlit Fortress, walked along the plains and forests. Gil, dressed in the clothes of a noble, held domain over the celestials and was regarded as their High King.

The Elder Deities all had their respective domains, so when it came to fighting their enemy they all had their respective roles. Usually Ammur spoke with the lords of war, but today exhaustion filled him and he was content to simply watch and read the reports they had been given.

“Exhausted after your battle?” An elderly voice came from Ammur right. 

Ammur turned his head to see a man standing there; standing tall at five and a half feet tall, with a hunch that made his back bend slightly forward. His face was lined with wrinkles, but they did not dim the shine that burned in his grey eyes. Clothed in simple white robes, he stood apart from the noble lords of light. 

“Yes, though it was a necessary fight. What brings you here, Arithan?” Ammur cut right to the chase and set the report to the side so he could focus on the elderly deity.

 Arithan was perhaps the oldest of the deities that served Good for he had been alive for a millennia. However, he was simply incapable in a fight. Frail and weak, with a failing ability to use magic; he was often delegated to tending to the Cathedral of Light in Hestavar.

“I simply felt the tremor of power and could not tell what had happened. I am glad to see that everyone is here and accounted for.”

“Are you really here? We could use your advice.” 

Their council usually was assisted by Arithan. There was not a moment when he brought up memories that aided their decisions, and helped them avoid tragic mistakes. 

“No, this is just an apparition to you.” 

He pressed a hand against the large table and his image fuzzed, the outline of his body becoming shaky lines until he pulled his hand away. 

“Besides, I must tell you something.” He made eye contact with Ammur, and Ammur leaned closer in under that intense gaze. “The world is stirring, I fear a great change is coming. Something that we cannot expect, that we should not expect.” 

He glanced towards the map on the table, where Erethal was currently pointing out a few key locations. 

“A change that is bigger than the one currently planned. Come to the cathedral soon, it is likely to happen within days.” 

The image of Arithan disappeared then, leaving Ammur alone to contemplate what had just happened.

Ammur turned back towards the map, towards their grand dream. The dream had been conceived centuries ago, when more of their kind still walked this earth. To invade the Hades and destroy the gods of Evil. It was a simple dream, but not the easiest to complete. Their forces were matched on the field of battle, their power too similar. For too long have they been balanced, and they could not find a way to pierce through the defenses around Hades. If anybody else looked at the map, they would question it. Why would anybody attempt such a broad and dangerous dream? Surely it was better to live in peace and fight off the occasional raiding party than attempt a dangerous and complicated invasion.

The answer was quite simple: the war would not end until they succeeded.

It was called the Eternal War. Every single Elder Deity knew, in mind, body, and soul, that the war existed. It was burned into their very being, what exactly this war was and is. It was their single purpose to fight this war, until they fell in battle. 

As the Elder Deities of Good, sworn champions of their Power, it was their duty to win the Eternal War for Good. Ammur assumed that the Elder Deities of Evil had similar ambitions, so they constantly warred on the borders of their land. This invasion was supposed to be the last stroke, the final blow to their enemy. They just needed the opportunity to strike. Centuries had been spent whittling away at their enemies defenses and recovering from attacks, but now it seemed their dream was close at hand.

His eyes skipped up towards the others as they filed out of the room, apparently the meeting was done. After a moment only Samiel remained in the room, staring down at the map with a grim look on his face. 

“Have we earned a peace, for a moment, Ammur? With the death of Josu Vess, do we have a moment to breath?” He turned to watch Ammur, his dark eyes held a small flame of passion mixed with wearniness.

“I believe we have. They will have to take time to recover, and we can build defenses along the land we have taken.” 

Ammur rose from his seat and stepped towards the table, gaze focused on the land that stood between their two warring kingdoms. These was the Borderlands, belonging neither to Good or Evil, filled with Ascendants, minor peoples imbued with the divine spark. They scraped out a living, usually as farmers and smaller townspeople, and were forced to deal with the constant warring between the two sides. 

“For how long will this peace last? Gil is uncertain how long we can continue to fight, at this pace at least. He thinks we should retreat and stay to our own lands, unconcerned with what happens on the Borderlands.”

“And leave the Ascendants to fend for themselves? While some of them have turned and now serve Evil, many are still innocent and simply wish to live in peace. You know as well as I do that as long as Evil remains in this world, they will never be safe.”

“Perhaps it is necessary.”

“Words I never thought I would hear you say.”

“Times are changing. How many of our kind still remain, on either side? This Age is fading away, turning towards another, and still we have not won.” He turned his back towards Ammur and stared at the map. “Helios thinks we can push forward, that we can win in an outright battle. The others are not so sure.”

Ammur walked over to his oldest friend and looked down at the map, following his gaze. 

_Daemon’s Bridge_ was written in black ink above a large dot. It was the last time they had clashed in any significant force against the enemy. There Aemon, Elder Deity of Light, had perished while taking down several powerful demonic lords, and even a couple lesser gods. That had been seven centuries ago, and ever since, they had only fought short skirmishing campaigns while each side recovered. He and Samael had both earned their command at that battle, a command that had only grown more burdensome. 

“Today was a bright victory, take comfort in that. Who knows what the next years await us? Karas is planning to strike in the north to weaken their hold, that will buy us more time.” He spoke in a proud tone, hiding the same fear he knew Sammael held within him.

“For how long, Ammur? For how long.” Samiel turned away from the map and left the room, leaving Ammur alone to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ProfessorShavey for being an amazing beta reader!


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